


Temporary Adoption

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is known as the Mother of Monsters. After Captain America is captured by the Mother of Monsters, Steve begins to prove himself quite the monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Adoption

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short drabble. I might continue it later on, but I'm stuck on my other fic for now lol...

When Captain America woke up, he forgot the seriousness of the situation entirely. With a warm blanket of sunlight over him, he woke up slowly, feeling dazed and relaxed between giant plush cushions in a luxuriously modern and grey room. He pushed himself forward, but the pain piercing his right shoulder returned, and the sudden sound of shackles clinkering caused flashbacks of the fight rushing forth. Falling back onto the royal green cushions, which reminded Steve of him, he stared at the cold metal binding each wrist and the glinting chains leading into the floor.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him. Pulling the chains with his super-strength did nothing.

“Don’t struggle too much, you’ll mess up the arrangement,” a silk-deep voice called out from the doorway. 

Loki, in nothing but oversized green and golden silk robes, made his way over to the couch, and Steve had no idea why he didn’t try strangling the psychotic villain who apparently had OCD, placing the plush cushions back in their previous arrangement. The villain stood tall and looked down on the superhero, arms crossed and looking rather nonchalantly smug.

“What would you like for lunch? I have mead, ice cream, cookies, chocolates…” he paused and put on a thoughtful display, “Ah, and poison. Lots of poison. Would you like that in your mead? An apple would be the more traditional option for Midgardians, wouldn’t it? A bright, delicious red apple…”

He was about to launch himself at Loki until his stomach betrayed and, for some reason, embarrassed him. The chains jingled with his sudden stop as he looked down at his bare stomach, realizing that he was wearing nothing but red silk pajama pants. Loki laughed at the loud growling, leisurely turning his back to the captain and walking away.

“Perhaps something American.”

The cuffs disappeared the moment Loki left the room, but Steve didn’t bother to get up and search for an escape, even given the fifteen or so minutes it took Loki to come back. Unsurprisingly, the cuffs were magically on again.

For lunch, he was hand-fed a tender, juicy cheeseburger, French fries, and a chocolate malt.

\---

Steve kept asking Loki why he bothered feeding him instead of letting him starve to death, why he wanted Steve alive and not dead. Each time he received a different answer—Loki wanted to ransom off Steve but no one wanted to pay up the amount for him, or to send him away to the Goblin King, or to sew his mouth to another human’s buttocks and his buttocks to another mouth. The first time around, Steve thought that the Liesmith would have a better lie prepared. The second time, he almost thought it was real – there are a lot of things in this universe, after all, so a Goblin King almost sounded plausible. The third time around, he really, really hoped Loki was living up to his title.

When the God of Mischief came back with a bucket and lotion, Steve finally realized Loki was referencing to films. (It was a perfectly clear and sunny day, Steve remembered, when he found all of the Avengers curled up on the sofas, watching this particular scene, and although he suggested they go outside or train, he ended up on the sofa with them.) “I should have figured when you said you were using me to make a human caterpillar,” Steve mumbled while chewing on a piece of steak. The juices from the filet mignon dribbled down from the corner of his mouth.

“Centipede,” Loki corrected, dabbing Steve’s jaw with a handkerchief. “You mustn’t speak and eat at the same time. Disgusting.”

He swallowed, and looked at Loki, searching for some hint in the green depths of Loki’s eyes. “Why are you feeding me?”

“One of your superhero friends hired me to kidnap you,” he replied, pressing a piece of steak against Steve’s lips. “I need you alive or else Mr. Stark won’t pay up the ransom.”

Steve laughed. “You used that one already. I mean, why are _you_ feeding me? It’s not like using the fork against you will work anyway.”

Loki rubbed at the faded scar around his upper arm, healed and faded after only one day thanks to Loki’s magic. Captain America looked away, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks and the alluring display Loki made with his robe half off, exposing a scarred arm and a bare, ivory shoulder. Steve hoped Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t getting the better of him.

Loki shrugged, and Steve kept himself from staring at Loki’s half-exposed chest.

“I have always wanted a pet, since I was young.”

Another laugh escaped him, but Loki interrupted. “This is no movie reference, Captain.” 

After the last bite, Loki slowly – Steve thought, maybe even affectionately – dabbed at Steve’s lips, with the utmost care in the world, like a mother or even a father.

“When I saw you, I thought, ‘I want him.’”

And with that, Captain America’s mouth ran dry. Loki pressed a cool glass of wine against his lips.


End file.
